


Valhalla

by FloralBucky



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies), Thor: Ragnarok (2017) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Pain, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 12:22:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14592936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FloralBucky/pseuds/FloralBucky
Summary: She watched Hela release the sword meant for her, meant to plant itself in her chest, and she knew it was her time, and she was ready to die for her sisters, and for Asgard.





	Valhalla

Brunnhilde blindly hurled herself out of bed, hands outstretched in the near darkness of the room. She desperately untangled herself from the blankets trapping her ankles and lurched into the bathroom, falling to her knees on the cold tile. She fumbled for the toilet and managed to get her head over it just before she vomited. Her eyes burned, and her knuckles turned white as she clutched the toilet seat. 

After a few horrific moments the nausea subsided, and she rested her head against her hands. In the brief silence, she heard movement from the bedroom as Loki awoke. She tried to stop him, but her throat was raw, and she couldn’t summon the energy to speak. The second he realized she wasn’t next to him in bed, he was by her side. He stroked her forehead lightly with the back of his hand and tucked some loose curls behind her ears. She trembled and pulled away slightly, but he persisted, wiping sweat and tears from her cheeks. 

“Nightmare?” he asked softly. She nodded weakly. It was still burned in the front her mind.

 

The raging storms of the skies. Her sisters pressed around her, the warm, grainy smell of their steeds and the sharp acridity of lightning. The clash of swords and knives as the Valkyrior met Hela, and the screams of horror and pain and death. She could see the fallen, and the falling, and the twisted weight of their bodies as they dropped into the cloudy depths below. She could feel the crunch of their bones and armor alike as she stood on a pile of their limp bodies, sword raised, grief and loss and fire in her eyes. She watched Hela release the sword meant for her, meant to plant itself in her chest, and she knew it was her time, and she was ready to die for her sisters, and for Asgard. 

But then Eir stepped in front of her. Her beloved Eir. Near-white hair flying in the wind, sword drawn a moment too late, hand outstretched to push Brunnhilde back, to shield her, to protect her. She heard the sickly screech of metal against metal, and the sound of a sword slicing through her lover’s innards, and the squelch of blood and organs squeezing out of caverns they were never meant to leave. She saw, all over again, the frozen look of shock, and pain, on Eir’s face as she realized what she had done, as she accepted her fate, as her sword clattered out of her hands and onto the armor of their sisters below them. Brunnhilde felt herself fall, felt the jolt of fear and horror pulse through her, as the body of her love collapsed on top of her. They lay amongst the corpses, spattered with blood and gore and the stench of death. Brunnhilde stayed like that for hours until she knew it was safe, until everyone was dead and Hela was gone. She stayed there, underneath Eir, forced to stare into her dead, glassy eyes, forced to feel the leaden weight of her unmoving form, forced to remain utterly still, to remember, over and over, the moment when the sword slid easily into Eir like she was nothing -

 

Brunnhilde wrenched herself out of Loki’s grip and pressed her face back into the toilet, emptying what was left in her stomach. Her body spasmed with pain and when she was finished, she flushed and curled herself into Loki’s arms. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she tried to hold back tears. 

“Brunnhilde,” Loki breathed, his eyes wide. He’d never seen her like this. She’d never let him see her like this. She rarely stayed all night, claiming that it felt too much “like a relationship, god of Mischief, and I’m not looking for that.” But over the past few weeks, they’d gotten closer, and she’d allowed herself to rely on him for things other than sex. But this...this was deeper than he ever really expected her to allow him to see. He was heartened that she trusted him like this, but at what cost?

“If I’m the only one left,” Brunnhilde sobbed into his chest, “Who led them to Valhalla? Who led her?”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to write a scene exploring Valkyrie's pain (when she's sober) and this has been on my mind since I saw Ragnarok. Takes place between Ragnarok and Infinity War, or we can just pretend Infinity War didn't happen :))) 
> 
> Note: Eir in this fic is based on the Valkyrie from Norse mythology and not Marvel, because I totally didn't know a character named Eir existed in the Marvel universe until I just looked it up (oops).


End file.
